Bittersweet and Strange
by Perosha
Summary: Crack pairing fluff, post-KHIII: Dilan/Sora's mom. I have no excuse for this. None.


They meet a week after the final battle, when Dilan escorts the children from the Destiny Islands home for a visit. He's spared the need to speak until the teens all run out the door, heading across town to visit Riku's family, and suddenly Dilan finds himself alone in the downstairs kitchen with her, forced to make small talk.

He's seen enough of Sora by now to tell there's a lot of her son in her. The same messy brown hair, the same wholehearted nature, the same warm smile. She never stops bustling about the kitchen as she chats to him in that friendly small town way, pushing a strand of hair out of her bright eyes after she's set the banana bread on the counter and tucked the tea towel back into her apron. Dilan doesn't say much, and is reserved but polite when he does. He thanks her with a nod when she calls his uniform handsome.

Her name is Ama.

* * *

The Hero of Light's mother, he tells himself. That's an extraordinary thing, and that's what makes her keep coming back to his memory as he patrols the castle for the next two weeks.

It's not her smile, no. Certainly not that.

* * *

The next time they visit the islands, she sends them all back to Radiant Garden with apricot-and-cranberry bread loaves wrapped in banana leaves. He eats a whole loaf himself (it's that good) and tells himself that courtesy means he has to return the favor at some point. When Kairi goes home for a few days, he sends a batch of scones with her.

To his surprise, he gets a handwritten note in response, Kairi pressing it into his hand before running off to join her friends in the replanted gardens. Ama thanks him for the scones. She doesn't often get to eat something she hasn't made herself, since she lives alone. She appreciates it.

He keeps the note, and isn't sure why.

* * *

The next time he's found a reason to be there, he goes shopping with her. She offers to let him stay at the house alone, but he can tell she thinks abandoning him would be rude of her, and so he gruffly insists to come along.

"I need to pick up some things for dinner, since the kids will be here all weekend...You really don't mind?"

Dilan carries the shopping bag, following her as she weaves through the marketplace stalls, conscious of how much he sticks out: tall, broad-chested, in a strange outfit that none of the locals have ever seen. But no one bats an eye when she introduces him.

When she catches him hovering over a cart of persimmons, she buys a pound without hesitation, as if she could tell right away that they're his favorite.

* * *

He helps with dinner—it seems only fair—and she's impressed with how deftly he handles a knife. With two of them the prep work takes half as long as it should, and so before the children return from the beach Ama and Dilan have time to spare, brewing some tea with herbs she plucks from the garden in front of the cottage.

They talk for a long time. Dilan laughs more than once, and the bitter note that has always tainted his laugh isn't as pronounced as usual. Perhaps there's no harm in visiting more often? After all, it's good to get out of the castle.

* * *

"Of course it was hard at first, since he passed so suddenly. But Sora and I got through it." She blows on her tea, then takes a sip. It's a new kind today, from a flower that's only just bloomed this week. "And then Sora left a few years ago...Not that I would ever hold him back. But I do miss him when he's gone."

Dilan spreads jam on a scone.

"I worry about him, of course. I had wanted more, but the doctor said he was the only one I could have, so he's always been my baby." She sighs, resting her cheek in one hand. "They grow up so fast..."

"You've nothing to concern yourself with about Sora," Dilan tells her. "A little naïve, perhaps, but his friends see him through. And he's stronger than I gave him credit for when we first met. You did well."

She laughs, and the corners of her eyes crinkle, and her mouth curls into that unreasonably cute smile that she passed on to her son. By the time Dilan notices he's done it, he's already reached across the table and closed a hand around hers, unthinkingly. He wonders at himself, but doesn't let go, because it's made her smile last longer.

It's a lonely burden, he supposes, being the mother of a hero. She bears it admirably.

* * *

They're watching a meteor shower in the backyard the first time she kisses him. Just kisses him, out of nowhere, like it's nothing. When she falls back to her feet from standing on tiptoe she smiles up at him, and for once in his life Dilan finds his silver tongue failing him, so that he goes silent and rigid as her smile gets softer. Finally he manages to articulate a question, but it's almost childish in its simplicity, his gift with words stolen.

"Why do you like me?"

"Why shouldn't I?" She brushes her hand along his face, hooking a finger to stroke his cheek, following the curve of his sideburns. "You're a good man, Dilan."

"No. I'm not."

Ama kisses him again. He kisses her back, harder than he meant to, as lights streak across the sky.

* * *

Every weekend, now. He leaves and returns like clockwork, and no one has the nerve to badger him about where he goes, though sometimes on Monday he'll be tanner than he'd been on Friday, with a seashell sitting on the table beside his cup of coffee. He smiles when he thinks no one is looking, but all of them notice, and wonder.

* * *

He only wrestles with himself in Radiant Garden; as soon as he steps out of the portal into the sunshine of the islands, all the questions fall away, and the confusion and frustration curl up and go to sleep inside his heart, waiting to wake and battle him again when the trip is over.

This world is quaint, small, neighborly; Ama shows him everything there is to see about the main island in one long day. If worlds could be called kind, then this one is, and despite its provincialism something about it reminds him of his boyhood in Radiant Garden. Children play in the street here, just as he'd done. It's a safe place, full of good people. He'd forgotten about such things.

They learn to cook as one, dividing tasks and talking freely, and there's an easy rhythm to the way they dodge each other around the cramped kitchen as the meal comes together. Sometimes they eat inside, and there's palm wine and her gentle teasing; sometimes they eat outside, watching the sun set over the endless sea as the breeze tugs at Dilan's long hair. He has to get the hang of kissing again—it's been a long time.

* * *

"Are you well?" Ienzo asks. "You haven't been yourself lately."

Dilan grunts some noncommittal answer, avoiding Ienzo's eye and squaring his shoulders, gazing out over the gardens.

* * *

He's used to being one of the first people up in the castle, starting on breakfast, getting the coffee going; on the islands he's yet to wake before her. When he manages it one day through sheer luck, she wakes to find him setting a laden tray at the foot of the bed.

"You didn't have to do all of this for me."

"It's for the both of us," he says, almost believing it. She leans her head against his shoulder while they eat breakfast together in bed, talking as dawn fills the room.

* * *

"You've been baking a lot lately," Even remarks.

Dilan grunts some noncommittal answer, peering into the oven, watching the cookies spread out on the sheet.

* * *

Cookies aren't really beach food, but they enjoy them anyway, along with the sandwiches and fruit she brought. They're the only ones on this stretch of beach for the whole afternoon, and he laughs like he hasn't laughed in years when she catches him off-guard and he trips headfirst into the shallows, splashing and spluttering, sand catching in his matted chest hair. They dry off in the sun, Ama half-sleeping with her head in the crook of his neck, his strong arm around her.

It's a good day until the end, when she wraps his fingers in hers and buries her face in his salt-soaked dreads and says Those Three Words. They eat at him all the way back to the castle.

* * *

"Mom told me."

This is not a conversation Dilan wanted to have, and he looks uncharacteristically guilty as he stands frozen in the middle of the kitchen. Though he forces a recovery, he still doesn't look as composed as he'd like, given that he's wearing oven mitts and holding a casserole that was about to go in the oven.

"What of it?" he asks brusquely.

"I'm not mad," Sora says, though he does at least sound wary. "I just...It's kind of..." A pause. "Really weird. Especially 'cause...y'know...you're you."

They stare at each other, Dilan still holding the casserole. Sora fidgets, scratching behind one ear.

"Just..." The young man looks for words. "Just...don't be a jerk to her, okay? She's my mom."

Dilan call tell the young man's struggling with this, unable to trust him. He isn't offended. He doesn't trust himself either.

* * *

Those three words broke the spell, knocked down the wall he'd managed to build around what's happening; now the thoughts that gnaw at him in the castle follow him to the islands, too. The only thing that quiets them, and even then only sometimes, is Ama running her fingers through his loosely-tied dreadlocks, kissing his chin.

He can't do this, he realizes, watching the sunrise alone. He's been fooling himself horribly. This light will fade. It always does.

* * *

"What's wrong?"

He brushes the question aside, chopping the last of the lettuce. Ama touches his shoulder, rubbing gently.

"Something's been bothering you, Dilan. I can tell."

Of course she can; ever since the beginning she's known how to see right through him, effortlessly, even when he's trying his best. He finishes with the knife and lays it down, staring at the shredded lettuce on the cutting board.

"Ama..."

Why do words so often fail him with her? He's had a way with them his whole life, until now.

Her hand on his shoulder moves across his chest, then up to his neck, so that she cradles his jaw with one hand and puts the other on his cheek, holding his gaze.

"Dilan...You can always talk to me. You know that, don't you?"

He stifles a sigh, pressing his face into the top of her head, her soft brown hair surrounding him with her familiar floral scent—and then he remembers he can't, now, and pulls himself away.

"We can't do this anymore."

The flash of her eyes surprises him, but only for a moment. How could he expect less? She isn't one to be intimidated, and doubt is not her heart's first response to anything. She is her son's mother.

"I can do this, Dilan. Why can't you?"

"I have to be alone." He can see how concerned for him she is, and tries to tell himself it doesn't matter. Won't matter a whit, when she leaves him someday, if he lets this go on. "This has all been...I can't be like this."

"You're not as good a liar as you think you are."

His temper flares, and hers does too; her eyes shine brighter as she juts her chin.

"Dilan, I know you're afraid. But you don't have to be." She finds his hand, wrapping both of hers around his fist. "Don't you understand that? There's another way."

He wants her to shout or cry when he leaves, to justify the sick feeling in his stomach; she does neither.

* * *

Aeleus finds him in the kitchen, elbows on the table, clutching his head. It's late, but not so late that the only pub is closed.

"How do I stop it, Aeleus?" Dilan croaks into his mug. "How do you stop loving someone?"

Aeleus swirls the last of his beer, watching the dying bubbles.

"I'm afraid I'm not the man to ask."

* * *

He waits for the light to go out.

There's work aplenty in the remnants of Radiant Garden, and Dilan throws himself into it with renewed determination, giving himself over fully to the Restoration Committee. He works, he trains, he drinks, and against his will, he feels.

There's a trick to it, surely, but he never learned it; even in his first life he never figured out how to extinguish the light that the rarest person could kindle in him. It _will _go out, he tells himself—except he has nothing to douse it with, no memories of jealousy or treachery or dishonesty with which to smother it. She'd still been smiling at him, sadly, as he left.

One night, only half-sober, he takes every seashell he's brought back from the islands and throws them at the wall, one by one, watching them shatter against the stone. Somehow he has the thought that he'll be free then, as if these trinkets are wicked talismans that have enslaved him. But the sound of each one exploding pierces his chest like a bullet wound, a dozen shots over and over, until all the seashells are gone. It changes nothing.

He sits on the edge of the bed and wonders how many weeks more the pain will last.

* * *

"Take these."

Dilan blinks, his nose wrinkling at the smell of the enormous bouquet Sora has pushed at him across the table. Sora looks more determined than Dilan has seen him since the war ended.

"You can't just break up with Mom like that." For once the genial Keyblade wielder sounds aggrieved. "I know she cries about it still. She cares about you a lot."

Dilan grumbles and presses the heel of his hand to his forehead, wincing at the headache he's given himself yet again. He can't keep drinking like this, but it's the only thing that helps.

"Your mother and I can't be together. It isn't right."

"Why isn't it right?" Sora's fighting spirit rises at the challenge. "Give me _one_ good reason."

Dilan tries, but his answer is essentially "because." Sora doesn't even give it the dignity of an argument.

"She loves you. Don't you love her?"

He doesn't answer this, but apparently his expression is revealing enough.

"Then go apologize." Sora shoves the colorful bouquet at him with both hands. "Stop being so weird about it already. I thought you were tougher than that."

* * *

The walk through town takes a hundred years. Dilan pauses at the end of the last street, looking down at the house on the corner, swallowing a lump in his throat. Petals fall from the bouquet, so that he leaves a trail of them to the front door.

She's sitting alone in the kitchen, nursing a mug of tea the way he's been nursing mugs of beer. She wipes her tears with the back of her hand as he sets the flowers in a vase, forcing one of her dimpled smiles.

"I'm sorry, Dilan. I shouldn't have gotten upset with you."

"Nor I you." His violet eyes search her face hungrily; he hadn't been sure whether he'd work up the guts to see it ever again. "You have nothing to apologize for, Ama."

She gets up from the table and crosses to him, unhesitating, reaching out to stroke his face. Dilan rumbles in the depths of his chest, as if a tiger could reluctantly purr.

"I'm sorry," he says at last. "This is...difficult, for me."

"Of course love is hard, Dilan." She looks like she wants to laugh at him gently, the way she's laughed at him gently since the first day. "All the best things are."

His muttered not-an-answer really does make her laugh, but she smiles to show it isn't meant harshly, not in the slightest.

"Ama...Do you really..."

And he can't say it, not that word, not even now; it sticks to his tongue and stays there. But she understands.

Ama sighs and runs a hand down the front of his slate-colored uniform, smoothing it. Then she takes a handful of the fabric and tugs him closer, pulling him into a long, warm kiss. He apologizes, with words and without, until dawn.

* * *

She irons his uniform in the morning, and straightens his collar once he's put it on, brushing his hair out of his eyes, telling him he's handsome. He lets her fuss over him, still tired, trying to remember what he was so afraid of.

* * *

He never quite gets over the occasional remarks from others at the castle, but after a while Dilan's replies go from snaps to growls to dignified silences, and he settles into his old routine of leaving every weekend. Now, however, others are allowed to come with him. Ama is always happy to see any of the kids; without meaning to, her son has granted her the large family she always wanted.

"Time to hit the beach!" Lea gathers up the last couple of lunch bags as he heads out the door, following Xion and Roxas and the others. "We'll be back for dinner."

"Keep a sharp eye," Dilan tells him. "The current can be dangerous."

But Lea has already left, calling over his shoulder as he heads down the garden path towards the distant shore.

"You two have fun while we're gone!"

Dilan scowls at Lea as he disappears from view around a hedge. Ama laughs at his indignant expression, wiping her flour-dusted hands on a tea towel. Even still, she leaves a streak of white in his hair when she caresses him.

* * *

"The wedding was so much fun!"

Dilan eyes Sora over the top of his newspaper, then reaches for his coffee.

"Is that where you've been all weekend? Hmph. And what wedding was this?"

"Adam and Belle's. The castle looks amazing! I didn't even recognize it. All the statues changed and everything, it's totally different now!"

Dilan frowns at the young man.

"Belle? Of the Beast's world, I take it? Then who is Adam?"

"Oh, yeah, didn't you know? The Beast and Belle broke the spell with their love awhile ago. His real name's Prince Adam. He's human again, like you."

Dilan processes this, and Sora smiles at him, his grin widening as he scratches his nose.

"You know, it's funny..."

"What?"

"You and Mom."

Dilan grumps and takes a swig of coffee.

"When you were Xaldin, you always acted like love was the most horrible thing in the worlds. And now Mom says you're really sweet." Since Dilan is sitting, Sora is able to give him a playful punch on the shoulder. "I get it now. You're just like the Beast was, aren't you? All angry and hairy on the outside, but then on the inside..."

Dilan grumps harder, though the words aren't intelligible.

"Man, wait till I tell Belle and Adam that _you_ fell in love. Bet they won't even believe me!"

Dilan chokes on his coffee, and by the time he recovers, it's too late. Sora is gone.

* * *

He can't keep her away forever; she wants to visit and the others want to meet her. Finally Dilan surrenders, and Ama fits in so well the week she's there that it's as if she's been at the castle this whole time. The kitchen fills with sweets and snacks, and she's not afraid to slap Lea's hand away if he takes too many at once. Dilan never kisses her if anyone else is around, but she'll kiss _him_ in public without hesitation, sending a flush creeping up his cheeks.

"I'm surprised at you, Dilan," Ansem tells him, "in the best possible way. You've made a good choice."

"I never chose this." There's a hint of his old sourness. "It simply...happened."

"Hearts are unruly things, aren't they?" Ansem says, smiling.

* * *

There's a balcony outside his window, and they spend a little while out there every evening, watching the stars. It's fascinating to her that they're the same as the ones on the islands, even if the constellations have shifted place.

"It's true, then, isn't it? There are many worlds, but they all share the same sky."

He wraps his arms around her from behind, holding her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder so that he can kiss her neck. When he does, she laughs; his sideburns tickle her.

They share a silence, though it's punctuated by the splashing of the restored fountains far below, and the occasional peal of laughter from some happy gathering elsewhere in the castle. When he gets the urge to kiss her he lets himself, and she lets him, and everything about it is easy and fluid and he's learned not to panic at the warmth that bubbles unbidden from his heart, telling him that this is real and good and matters.

"Dilan?"

"Hm?"

She finds one of his hands on her waist and squeezes it.

"I know all of this is hard for you sometimes. I hope you know...You make me happy."

"As do you."

Another silence. Then they kiss again, and Ama teases him a little, smiling between love-bites, her hair still smelling of fresh flowers and the windswept sea.

Perhaps this is all right, he thinks later, gazing at the ceiling as she sleeps with her head in the crook of his arm, pressed against his bare chest. Bittersweet and strange, but right, in the end.

He owes Prince Adam an apology.


End file.
